1776: Molasses to Rum to Lace
by believin'inluv
Summary: When Edward Rutledge gets asked to do his own line of clothing, John Adams and his friends suspect that there is something more troublesome than flamboyant outfits to worry about. Based on the Broadway musical 1776.
1. Edward's Offer

**I know, I know, I shouldn't start a new fanfic before I finished another, but I couldn't help myself! This crazy 1776 fic was inspired by many Rutledge-related jokes between my best friend and I. Hope you like it (and whether you did or didn't, all reviews and critique are greatly appreciated)! **

_Early May, 1776_

A bright yellow sun shone down on Edward Rutledge as he got out of his carriage. The combined scent of fruit and fish filled his lungs, but Edward didn't cringe. He was used to the odd scents of Philadelphia by now. He made sure there was no mud underneath the carriage; he didn't want to ruin his freshly-polished shoes. As he strutted up the stairs of Independence Hall, he couldn't help but smirk. He was thinking about what kind of antics there were going to be today in Congress—and how jealous all of his fellow Congressmen were going to be of him (as he was sure they always were) when they saw he had a new silk hair ribbon.

Edward strutted into the large meeting room inside Independence Hall only to find no one there except for Andrew McNair. The grumpy Congressional custodian was on his knees washing the floors, his eyes focused intently on his work. Edward raised an eyebrow, baffled.

"Excuse me…you…" Edward said, pointing at McNair. McNair put down his scrub brush and looked up at him with anticipating eyes, waiting for him to say something more. Edward pursed his lips and looked at the man with confusion. _"Why isn't he saying anything?" _Edward thought.

"McNair," the little man said, emphasizing it as if Edward couldn't spell. To Edward's surprise, the custodian seemed upset. "My name is Andrew McNair! I've been here as long as you have, and I took the time to learn your name, Mr. Rutledge!"

"How could you _not_ want to take the time to learn my name?" Edward asked. He put his hands on his hips in offense. "Well then, Mr. McNair, where are all of the other delegates? They're usually all here by now, anticipating my appearance, most surely." McNair looked down so the southerner wouldn't see him roll his eyes.

"I got a late start with the cleaning today," McNair answered, grabbing his scrub brush. "I sent them all off and told them to come back at ten thirty."

"Mm-hrm…and what time is it now?" Edward asked.

"About nine forty," McNair answered, still not looking up. Edward pondered for a moment. He just had breakfast, so he didn't feel like going to a restaurant. It was too early for drinks, but maybe Joseph Hewes or someone else was in one of the taverns…

"Thank you sir," Edward said, already had forgotten McNair's name. McNair's reply was a loud scrape of the brush against the hardwood floor. Edward turned on his heels in a most suave manner, then strutted towards the door.

Once outside, Edward decided to go to City Tavern. There were always people in there.

"_As long as I don't run into that unpleasant Mr. Adams or that smelly old Franklin," _Edward thought to himself.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-HAAAAAA!!!!!" A cry came from down the street as loud and as echoing as a cannonball shot. Edward knew exactly who it was. He looked down the road to see Richard Henry Lee making his way over on his trademark brown horse.

"Good mornin', Neddy!" Lee called out, his voice as cheery as always. Lee hopped off his horse and ran over to Edward, his mouth curved upward into a bright grin. "How are you doing today?!" Edward smiled. It was always nice to have someone worship him, especially a mid-southerner. He put on his usual charm.

"Mighty fine, Mr. Lee. I assume you feel the same?" Lee's nose suddenly scrunched up, and he brought his arm up behind his head.

"I have an itch on my back that I can't reach."

"Splendid," Edward droned, not really paying attention. "Well Mr. Lee, I must be off. Congress isn't gathering until ten thirty today."

"It's not?! Ooh…" Lee moaned in disappointment. "I had to tell Johnny Adams something, and I'm sure I'll forget it by ten thirty!"

"Tell me. I'll remember," Edward said. He had no desire to talk to Adams, but he wanted to appease Lee. The issue of independency was arising, after all, and Edward needed Virginia to take the side of the colonies below it. Lee's eyebrows lowered and he looked upward, lost in deep thought. He clicked his tongue against his teeth once.

"By golly, I've already forgot. Oh well!" Lee exclaimed happily, already over it. "Where are you headed, Neddy?!"

"City Tavern," Edward said, doing his best not to sigh. So much for walking there peacefully. Lee grinned widely, as though Edward had just said he was going to give him a million dollars.

"Stephen Hopkins is always there! I've been meaning to talk to him!" Lee put his arm around Edward's neck. "Let's go, Neddy! Sing with me! You see it's here a Lee, there a Lee…" Edward sighed and reluctantly pranced with Lee to City Tavern, worrying about scuffing his shoes the whole way. Neither he nor Lee suspected they were being followed.

* * *

Meanwhile, a group of three friends was already sitting in the City Tavern. Two members of the group were dying to have their ears chopped off.

"He's an imbecile! A true imbecile!" John Adams shouted, so loudly that people looked at him from their seats.

"Calm yourself, John," Benjamin Franklin ordered politely. "People are staring at you."

"Good! Let them stare! I want them to know all about John Dickinson, and how he cares about his precious land and prosperity over his rights as a human being!" John slapped the table on his last word, his face turning bright red. Thomas Jefferson, who was sitting on John's left, just stared into his glass of red wine and said nothing.

"It's kind of funny, actually," Ben observed. "You say you hate Dickinson, yet without him there would be nobody for you to scream about. I think you'd lose your mind." Ben let out a small chuckle. John looked at him through half-closed eyes.

"Oh yes Franklin, this is really cute. The man has everyone in that Congress against us, but you just keep on laughing. You won't get to laugh when the British come to hang us."

"They won't hang me!" Ben said assuredly. He held up a finger expressively. "I'm popular!" Tom looked up at Ben from his wine.

"But you're on their opposing side," Tom said. Ben looked at him, and for a moment there was a pause. Ben suddenly raised his finger again.

"But I'm popular!"

"Then have fun laughing when they bring me to the gallows," John said, grabbing his cup of hot cider.

"That would be a scene of hilarity for many indeed," said a syrupy, southern-accented voice that John knew all too well. John shuddered, turned around in his seat, and looked up at the smiling South Carolinian standing above him.

"What are you doing here, Rutledge? Don't you make life miserable enough for everyone without having to become a stalker?" John asked. Edward's lips twitched downward at the corners of his mouth.

"I've only come here to see if there was anyone of worth to talk to," Edward said. "Apparently, there is no one. Except for Mr. Jefferson; he's only a mid-southerner, but he'll do."

"What?" Tom asked, coming out of one of his frequent dazes. John looked at Edward with eyes that could've sent Beowulf running away in fright.

"No one of worth, hunh? That coming from someone who goes almost everywhere alone," John sneered. Edward smirked.

"Oh, I didn't come here alone today…" Edward said in a singsong voice. Lee ran up from behind him, as if on cue.

"You know Neddy, I've seen some disgusting necessaries, but that one is the worst!" Lee suddenly looked at John and gasped. "Johnny! What have you been up to since yesterday?! Hey, is that an empty seat next to you?!"

"Oh dear God," John muttered aloud. Edward gave John a haughty, "have fun" kind of look before waltzing over to an empty table and taking a seat. A tavern wench came by. Even though it was early, Edward ordered a bourbon before complimenting the lady on her hair and making her blush. When she brought his drink back, Edward watched John sit in agony through one of Lee's discussions and smirked. Could his life get any better?

"Excuse me, Mr. Edward Rutledge?" Edward looked up to see a sandy-haired man in a fancy, dark blue frock coat standing over his table. The man held a notebook and a few other papers under his arm.

"You're looking for perfection, I assume?" Edward asked casually.

"Yes indeed," the man said with a smile. Immediately Edward was intrigued.

"Please sit down," Edward said welcomingly. The man did.

"Well sir," the man said cheerfully, putting down his notebook and papers in front of him. "My name is Jacob Ives."

"Ives…are you French?" Edward asked, rolling his glass around with his fingers.

"A descendent of French immigrants, yes." Jacob spoke proudly, displaying his self-confidence. "I've lived here in Philadelphia my entire life. I've always been a merchant. I'm one for finding new things to make a profit out of. I never stick to one thing to sell and trade; I have to switch, or I get bored with the business."

"Understandable, but what does that have to do with me?" Edward asked.

"Well Mr. Rutledge, as you may know, women have been making their clothes out of their own fabric recently to avoid buying from British traders. One day, I had an epiphany. I thought: wouldn't it be great if there was a line of strictly colonial-made clothing, for both men and women? What if we hired people to make the clothes in different sizes out of fabric for other people just to buy? Since money is so tight nowadays too, we could make the clothes inexpensive and sell lots."

"I like your way of thinking, sir," Edward said. He was always supportive of making money, though he was secretly jealous that he hadn't thought up such an idea first.

"There's a catch though, Mr. Rutledge. In order to do this, I would need someone to design the clothes. I am terrible at that, and my wife is pregnant and doesn't feel like doing so. I searched around Philadelphia for someone who looked like they had some fashion knowledge. That was when I stumbled upon you."

"Well, naturally," Edward said with a smile. The southern dandy charm he expressed really did pay off. _"Take that, Mr. Adams!" _

"What I'm trying to say is that I want you to design the outfits, Mr. Rutledge. Not only that, but they will be sold under your name!" Jacob exclaimed. Edward looked at Jacob in shock.

"Really?"

"Absolutely! It's only right," Jacob assured. "All I will be in charge of is opening up stores and marketing the clothes throughout the colonies. You'll just think up some designs and I know people who can get them put together. It's that easy!"

Edward couldn't believe his luck. He was always telling other people that they should dress better. Now he could actually show them how much his fashion sense was superior to theirs!

"Mr. Ives, you've made me the happiest gentleman in this city," Edward said with a grin. "I can assure you that you will not be disappointed."

"I know that I won't be," Jacob said. He pushed the papers and the notebook over to Edward. "Those papers on top there will just affirm you as the owner of your designs and clothing line. You can just sign those papers and bring them back to me here at one o' clock tomorrow. Does Congress take a break around that time?"

"Usually, yes," Edward said. He pointed to the notebook. "What's this for?" Jacob smiled.

"That's a design notebook for you, of course! You keep your clothing ideas in there. You can even come up with a few ideas tonight and bring them to me tomorrow, if you'd like."

"I would like…I would like very much…" Edward said, his eyes gleaming. He was already coming up with some ideas.

"Excellent Mr. Rutledge, excellent!" Jacob exclaimed happily. He stood up. "I must be on my way—there are people to contact and things to get started for the business. I'll see you right here tomorrow, then?"

"Absolutely. Good day to you, sir," Edward said ever-so-politely.

"You too, Mr. Rutledge," Jacob said. Then he turned around and walked away. Edward leaned back in his chair, a million thoughts going through his mind at once. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, yet he couldn't stop himself. Suddenly, Edward made a quick decision.

_"I'll skip Congress for today, go back to where I'm staying, and think up some designs!" _

After paying for his drink, Edward got up and walked away from his table. He was feeling so lighthearted that it was as though he was walking on air. In fact, he was so happy, that he voluntarily stopped to talk to John Adams and his cronies.

"Excuse me ya'll, but will you tell Mr. Hancock that I won't be at Congress today?" Edward asked. It was then he noticed that Stephen Hopkins had joined their table.

"You won't?! Awww, we'll sure miss you, Neddy!" Lee said.

"Yes, most certainly," John lied, the large grin spreading across his face giving him away.

"Where are you off to, Neddy?" Stephen Hopkins asked.

"You'll find out soon enough," Edward said with a smirk. "Goodbye, ya'll." As soon as he walked out of the tavern, John nearly cried tears of joy.

"Who cares where he's off to, as long as he's gone!" John exclaimed. "Drinks are on me for today, gentlemen!"

"In that case, I'll have two more rums!" Stephen called out.

Edward heard their loud cheers as he exited the tavern, but he didn't care. This had been the greatest day of his life, and he wasn't going to let anyone make him feel anything but unbelievably confident. After all, nothing had ever stopped him from feeling that way before.

**End of Chapter 1**


	2. The Devil Wears Flower Prints

The next day, at exactly one o' clock, Edward was waiting in City Tavern for Jacob to arrive. He didn't have to wait very long.

"Hello, Mr. Rutledge!" Jacob said. He noticed the few empty bourbon glasses around Edward and raised an eyebrow. "How long have you been waiting here?"

"About two hours," Edward said. "I couldn't wait; my excitement was uncontainable!" Jacob was going to point out how Rutledge was letting down all his fellow South Carolinians by not doing his Congressional duties, but he held his tongue. He wasn't about to make an attempt to bruise Edward's overweening ego.

"Let me see your designs," Jacob said with an enthusiastic smile. Edward gently pushed the notebook and the papers he had signed over to Jacob. The second Jacob opened it, he saw a bunch of designs for frock coats, waistcoats, breeches, as well as a couple of dresses. All of the designs had elaborate patterns of leaves or flowers. The most eye-catching—and unusual—was a dark purple frock coat with a bright orange daisy design. There was a pink dress with a similar flower design—except in gold—complete with a matching parasol.

Edward watched Jacob flip through the pages, unable to keep from grinning. He couldn't wait to hear all of the praise that Jacob was sure to have for him. When Jacob finished looking at all of the outfits, he put down the notebook and smiled disarmingly at Edward.

"Mr. Rutledge—""

"Please," Edward said, holding up a hand. "We're on personable terms now. Call me Edward."

"Um, Edward…" Jacob said, recovering from the interruption. "I have some good news and some bad news."

Edward frowned. Bad news? There should be _no _bad news. Had Jacob even looked at the designs? Was he drunk? Or even worse, was he on opium?

"What might that be?" Edward asked.

"The good news is that these are great designs," Jacob said. Edward smiled.

"Of course they are, Jacob."

"However, maybe you should try designing something besides…oh, how should I put this…" Jacob tapped the table with his finger slightly as he attempted to put his thoughts into words. Edward waited intently. "Southern prints?" Edward gasped, outraged. He stood up violently, nearly knocking over the table and the empty glasses.

"Sir! To us in South Carolina, prints are our defining trademark and a necessity for life! You don't see men from Massachusetts walking around in such a confident style!" Edward did not scream, but his face nevertheless turned as red as a tomato.

"Now calm down, Edward…"

"Mr. Rutledge!"

"Mr. Rutledge, I didn't mean to offend you, or the colony of South Carolina," Jacob said. Edward crossed his arms and glared at Jacob with cold eyes. "What I meant to say is, while your designs are fantastic, only rich Southern Carolinians like yourself will buy them." Edward stared at him in silence for a good few minutes.

"And...?" Edward finally asked, exaggerating his word. Jacob folded his hands together in a business-like manner.

"And, that will make you lose money. This clothing line is going to be aimed at all people from every colony, Mr. Rutledge. I know it's not what you're used to, but you have to appeal to others if you're going to succeed in this business."

"Other people wouldn't know fashion if it hit them upside the head!" Edward insisted.

"I know, I know," Jacob said, trying to appease. "If you can do this—I mean, if you can truly find out what other people from different colonies want and design something they'd like, you'd show them all how talented you are. You'd be displaying your superiority over them, would you not be?" Edward put a hand on his chin, considering this.

"I suppose so…" Edward sighed, calming himself down. He sat back in his seat. "Where am I going to get these ideas from, Jacob?" Jacob shrugged.

"Wherever you can talk to a mixed group of people, I suppose." Edward grinned, suddenly getting the inspiration he needed.

"I know where," Edward said with a pompous smirk and a confident nod. "I know _exactly _where."


	3. Peer Pressure

**Just a quick note: there are two quotes in here by Benjamin Franklin which completely belong to him. They are his and not mine; I am _not _plagiarizing him. Ben gets full credit for his words. Now that copywrite business is out of the way, I hope you enjoy chapter 3, and sorry it took me so long to get these up!**

**Molasses to Rum to Lace: Chapter 3**

When Edward returned to Congress the next day, he made an announcement that he was going to make his own clothing line. The response from a few Congressmen was complete and utter bafflement. The response from the rest of the Congressmen was a bunch of unified outright laughter.

"Whose bright idea was this?!" Stephen Hopkins asked aloud, slapping his hand on his knee as he laughed.

"Since when does a Congressman become a fashion expert?" John Dickinson of Pennsylvania asked his lackey James Wilson in puzzlement. Wilson was about to reply, but Dickinson cut him off (as usual). "Who would ask _Rutledge _to do such a thing, anyway?"

John Adams just rolled his eyes and groaned. He rested his head on the palm of his hand, not believing Rutledge's ridiculousness. The only two people not shocked or laughing were Richard Henry Lee (who was genuinely happy for Rutledge) and Thomas Jefferson (who was too busy staring into space and singing Bach to himself to notice anything else).

"Gentlemen, calm down!" John Hancock yelled, banging his gavel. The many laughs and sighs of distress throughout the room ceased. "Now, Mr. Rutledge will be in my personal office for the rest of the day. He needs ideas for his new clothing line and is open to suggestions. Anyone who wishes to go in and give ideas may." Hancock normally hated renting out his personal space to anyone, but if it meant Rutledge was out of Congress for another day, he'd make an exception.

"Oh oh, pick me Neddy! Pick me!" Lee exclaimed, raising his hand and wriggling his fingers. Edward told Lee to follow him to Hancock's office. Once they both got in, Edward sat in Hancock's chair behind a large cedar desk. Lee sat in a smaller chair, smiling as always. Edward could've sworn Lee bounced slightly in his seat with excitement.

"Now Mr. Lee," Edward began, picking up a quill. "In order to get some ideas for my designs, I need to find out what kind of clothes can make people feel very confident all the time. What style makes you feel confident?"

"Anything with bright colors that accentuates the shoulders!" Lee exclaimed excitedly. He suddenly struck a pose as though he was posing for a portrait, putting on his best serious face. "It makes me feel stately!" He then leaned in closer to Edward, his eyebrows rising upward. "And the bright colors catch the attention of the ladies!"

_"In a bad way," _Edward thought sardonically, completely unaware of how many times people looked at him in an odd way. He quickly scribbled what Lee said down. "Anything else?"

"Tricorner hats, and lots of them!" Lee exclaimed. Edward nodded and wrote.

"Thank you, Mr. Lee. Could you send someone else in when you leave if no one's waiting?" Edward asked. Lee nodded enthusiastically, got up, and hummed to himself as he left.

The person he sent in next was James Wilson.

"What style makes you confident, Judge Wilson?" Edward asked. James looked quite hunched over and uncomfortable.

"Well, I…um…um…" James sighed and looked down at his hands, seeming as though he had just had an accident in his pants. He twiddled his thumbs for five whole minutes. "I-I don't know…"

"I've asked the wrong person, haven't I?" Edward asked with a sigh. James nodded quickly, his face displaying his anxiety. "Very well, then. Send in someone else."

James sent in John Dickinson.

"I'm so happy to see you come in to help me, Mr. Dickinson," Edward said pleasantly. Dickinson sat upright in his chair, his hands on his lap and his walking stick resting on the arm of his chair.

"Well, I was overjoyed to hear of your good fortune, sir," Dickinson said in a sugary-sweet voice. What Dickinson said was not what he meant. Really, he was fuming. How _dare _that southern dandy come upon a good business deal before he did? Why would anyone in their right mind choose a man of such flamboyant fashion sense to design a clothing line? But, Dickinson was well aware of the approaching issue of independency, and how Rutledge was most likely to vote it down. He couldn't insult a man who would most likely be his ally. So Dickinson gathered up all of the self-composure he had (a task he was quite good at doing), held his tongue, and accepted the horrendous insult on his dignity.

"I'll let you know, sir, that you being a man of position and influence makes me admire you above anyone else in this Congress…except for me, of course," Edward said.

"Of course," Dickinson repeated, almost through gritted teeth. He attempted to smile extremely amiably to make Rutledge think he was being genuine. Since Dickinson never smiled unless he was insulting John Adams, this attempt looked like a normal smile.

"Well then Mr. Dickinson, on to business. What kind of style makes you confident?" Rutledge asked.

"My forest green frock coat and pants," Dickinson said right off the bat. "I almost wear nothing else."

_"Like we all haven't noticed your lack of style," _Edward thought sarcastically.

_"Looks better than your dreadful rose prints any day," _Dickinson thought bitterly. Both men smiled at each other to conceal their inner thoughts. "What makes you so confident, Mr. Rutledge?" Dickinson asked, pretending to be into their conversation. Edward grinned, as if he had been waiting his whole life for someone to ask him the question.

"Well Mr. Dickinson, to us in Southern Carolina, we loves ours lace, ours roses, and ours fine prints," Edward said, dragging out the word "fine." Dickinson nodded as well, silently racking his brain even more as to why Rutledge got the fashion job. "Solid colors, then?" Edward asked.

"Solid colors that display ultimate prosperity," Dickinson stated. Edward nodded and made a note. Then he let Dickinson go, much to Dickinson's delight.

Benjamin Franklin was up next.

"Well you know me, Mr. Rutledge," Ben explained. "I'd be confident even if I wore nothing at all! However, if you could make clothes that are both attractive and are easy to take off in a quick amount of time, it would be quite nice indeed." He said this with a wry smile and a twinkle in his eye. Edward laughed slightly.

"I'll make a sultry line just for you and your ladies, Doctor."

"Oh, lovely!" Ben replied, patting his round stomach in excitement. Ben was followed by Samuel Chase, who said he didn't care what kind of clothes there were as long as the frock coats could stretch and the breeches had a flexible waistline. After him came Thomas Jefferson.

"What about you, Mr. Jefferson? What makes you confident?" Edward asked. Tom shifted in his chair and looked up at Edward, seeming aware of his surroundings for once.

"Anything French," Tom answered plainly, practically mumbling. Edward raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you'd favor a classic Virginian style…"

"No. French." Tom's eyebrows lowered. Edward shrugged his shoulders.

"Alright," he said as he jotted down a note.

Lyman Hall came next.

"What makes me confident? Um…" Lyman paused for a second, thinking. "I don't really know. I wear pretty much anything." Edward sighed.

"Well, what makes you happy then?"

"You mean clothing-wise, or…"

"No, I mean food-wise," Edward said sarcastically. Since Lyman was nice and didn't understand sarcasm very well, he figured Edward was serious.

"Peaches, then. I love peaches." Edward nearly felt like hitting himself. Then, suddenly, he got an idea.

"Okay Dr. Hall, thank you," Edward said, writing down what Lyman said. When Lyman went back to the meeting room, Ben saw him and turned to John Adams.

"John, you should go. I'm sure you have some ideas," Ben encouraged. John looked at him, stupefied.

"Why in God's name would I do that, Franklin?" John's face scrunched up into its normal frowning look. "It's all so foolish." Ben smiled a cheerful smile.

"I thought it was fun," he said. "Different from the usual stuffy Congressional discussions, it was." John rolled his eyes.

"Why would I help Rutledge with anything? The man is the most self-centered peacock I've ever met, not to mention someone who despises me."

"Be better than him, John," Ben said. "Reach out and be a friend, for a brother may not always be a friend, but a friend will always be a brother." John sighed.

"As much as I'd love to listen to you babble quotes out your mouth all day, Franklin, I must focus on my work." He lifted a quill pen out of its ink stand and wrote on a piece of paper to prove his point. Across the room, John Dickinson cackled maniacally.

"Mr. Adams simply knows he has no ideas. All he ever wears is that _dreadful _rust-colored frock coat!" A few of Dickinson's cronies snickered in agreement. John looked up in utter disgust, his mouth hanging open. He tossed his quill pen down on his desk.

"Ah, what was that, Mr. Dickinson?"

"You heard me loud and clear," Dickinson said with a smirk. He waved his walking stick back and forth casually. "As with everything else, you are a coward when it comes to fashion sense." John immediately stood up, knocking over his chair. He ran over to Dickinson with fury blazing in his eyes. The entire Congress sighed, knowing what was about to happen.

"_I'm _the coward?! You refuse to confront the British, even when they are harming your own fellow colonists! Not only am I not a coward, but you sir…" John angrily lifted a finger and pointed in Dickinson's face. "You are an IMBESILE!" Dickinson just chortled.

"You're not a coward? Then prove it." Dickinson raised a hand and directed towards the door of the meeting room. "Go into that office and give Rutledge a few ideas, if you're so brave." John sighed heavily once again and dramatically threw his hands up in the air.

"Has the world gone mad?! Since when was the Continental Congress an institution centered around cheap clothing?!" He turned on his heels and began to walk back to his seat, still looking at his nemesis over his shoulder. "Furthermore, I do not have to prove myself to you, Mr. Dickinson!" Dickinson smiled again.

"Alright, sir…but when the vote for independency arrives, I just wonder what your legacy will be. Will anyone believe you and your side after they saw how you could not even help one of your fellow Congressmen? What kind of noble man with a heart for good things like liberty and love refuses to assist someone else?"

Silence fell upon Independence Hall for the first time in history. John froze, his stomach dropping as though a weight was attached to it. As much as he hated to admit it, Dickinson's words struck a chord with him. If this were a matter of people liking him for popularity, then John would have just ignored Dickinson's comments. John knew he wasn't the most popular person in the Congress, and that wasn't going to change. However, this was for the cause. John's reputation had to be clean if he was going to continue representing the side of liberty. It was a necessity.

"He's got yah there, John," Colonel Thomas McKean said in his heavy Scottish accent. More silence ensued as the room awaited John's answer. John looked at all of them and frowned. Then he sharply turned around and marched towards the door. Dickinson and his friends burst out into gales of laughter as he did so.

"This is absurd," John muttered as he reached for the doorknob. Ben leaned forward and raised his finger practically.

"Try not to complain, John. Any fool can criticize, condemn and complain, and most fools do."

"Oh, SHUT UP!" John yelled. He walked out the door and slammed it behind him, Dickinson's humiliating laughter still echoing in his ears.


End file.
